My optimism for my manuscript went out the window when my twin brother sent the rest of his feedback to me and I saw the overall tonnage of work ahead of me. I'm scared of it. Really, I am. I'm scared of the amount of work that needs to be done. I'm scared that I don't know what I'm talking about, that I'm really a fraud regarding the subject I'm writing about. I'm scared that I'll finish it and it'll suck to high hell and won't even sell to my family and close friends.
Fear is a sucky emotion.
I've got to get a grip. I've got a choice, here. I've got a choice to practice what I preach, or give in to the fear and thus fulfill my fears of losing credibility. I've got to outpsyche myself and get back on the stick and remind myself that the only thing standing in my way at this point is me and my damn irrational fears.
The irony is that more than ever, I think the message of my book is quite timely. And yet, it's that very realization that upped the ante even more, and makes me that much more frightened of falling on my face. But of course, if I keep it up, I'll jip myself out of that possibility as much as the possiblity for monumental success.
Maybe I should start saying Yes I can! Yes I can! Yes I can! I heard that that phrase is available for use now that the election is over...